Why Bunny Trains Wear Garlands — Before sunrise, Saffi rubbed the little engine’s brass switch lever until it smelled like pennies and rain. Read the full story →
Before sunrise, Saffi rubbed the little engine’s brass switch lever until it smelled like pennies and rain. She wanted to send the first egg train over the spring hills, but her paws shook at the thought of waving the green flag while every tulip watched.
The engine gave one soft chuff—puff—and then stopped. No smoke. No start. Saffi climbed onto the warm nose and peeked where nobody ever peeked: deep inside the smokestack. Her paw brushed a crackly pouch, tucked behind the soot. Inside were sleeping flower seeds, each one no bigger than a freckle.
“I can do one small thing,” Saffi whispered. She tied the seeds along the cars with bits of vine, and the engine puffed again. Warm steam kissed the pouch, and blossoms opened all at once, gentle as tiny bells. The egg train rolled, brave and slow, through the hills. Ever since, bunny trains wear flower garlands so shy seeds know when it is time to wake; next time you spot those blossoms, listen for the first soft chuff—puff.
